


Grand Narratives From The House Fallen

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amorality, Arranged Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, Extramarital Affairs, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Gen, Immortality, Love, Middle Ages, Older Man/Younger Woman, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four children of Lord Rickard Stark, through various decisions, contribute to the shaping of the future of their house.</p>
<p>AU! Brandon elopes with Barbrey Ryswell, Eddard seeks fulfillment in being his brother's opposite, Lyanna weds into House Tully for the family and Benjen's world is never quite stable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Narratives From The House Fallen

 

 

 

 

 

Brandon whistled softly, still in hiding behind the tall tree. His gaze lingered upon the supple, tall form of Barbrey, weighing the possibility of revealing himself even as she dismounted. Instead, he whistled once more, a dry sound losing itself in the cracking of the burdened branches. The snow beneath his boot-encased feet cracked softly. Brandon repeated for the third time the sound upon which he finally noticed that the young maiden parted company with her servant girl, sending her off onto some wild goose chase.

Without further ado, he sprang from his hiding spot and with wide steps advanced upon the she who faced the opposite way. He’d nearly frozen waiting for her in the cold. Yet now when she stood before his eyes, he remembered neither cold nor discomfort.

The heir of Winterfell reached out a hand, placing it upon a gently sloping shoulder. The female jumped, her head swivelling towards him. Her gasp of fright and confusion was swallowed whole within the kiss he offered by way of apology, lips taking hers without an ounce of shame though they be without, exposed to not only elements but judgement. Brandon turned the rest of her around as well, hands falling to her well-defined waist, the golden girdle he’d gifted her peaking out from behind a dark cloak.

Barbrey framed his hands between her soft palm, pushing herself further into him, mouth eager and playful, leading him further into the act. “Apologies, apologies from the depths of my heart,” she said upon freeing her lips from his in a moment of ill luck. For the words that followed slew the Wolf. “Father suspects something. He nearly stopped me and would not let me leave alone.”

“There is no doubt?” he questioned, hope still lingering that her lord father might have just been grasping at straws in an attempt to discipline what he perceived to be too much freedom in his daughter. “Think well; it might be that you have put him off in some manner.”

“I’ve not.” Barbrey pulled away from him with a sharp movement. “I have come to you with my sorrow and you would blame me?” The young woman slapped a hand against his shoulder. “If that is the measure of your love, ser, then I need it not, nor crave it.” Her lower lip trembled, as if with the effort of holding something else back.

‘Twas not long before he saw tears out of her though. In the manner of all maidens she poured her sorrow into rivers of tears. Brandon hurried to console her. “Nay. You mistake me. ‘Twould be ill of me to hold you accountable. Pray, do not weep.”

“How can I not when I know what I know,” she cried, hands reaching out for him, gripping his fingers betwixt hers in such a tight manner that Brandon felt twinges of pain all over the abused skin. “Father says you are to wed a Tully,” Barbrey wept bitterly, “and that I am not to see you any longer without direct supervision.”

Of that Brandon had not thought. His considerations, the young wolf, would be the first to confess, had revolved around the softness of Brabrey’s lips and the sweetness hidden within her kirtle. That her father should inquire about his state, Brandon had assumed, mayhap foolishly, ‘twould not happen.

“What nonsense,” he replied, knowing full well he lied even as he pulled Barbrey back into his embrace. “My lord father can order it, but there is only one maiden I wish to wed.” He dropped a kiss upon her lips for effect. And in that moment an idea came to him. “And ‘tis only her I shall wed.”

Indeed, if father wished to make a puppet out of him, Brandon would show the man he was not one of the bannermen, bound to listen and obey. He was the heir of Winterfell. “Barb, come with me.” With an effusion of affection, he lifted her clean off the ground. “Come with, or I shan’t put you down.”

The encouragement was not registered by the maiden for she seldom heard anything over her own voice being released in a high-pitched sound. The unceremonious delivery of the proposal was then repeated to her delight in manner of demands alternated with cajoling, bringing promises and swearing eternal remorse in case of a refusal.

Barbrey, unable to refuse even the smallest of the demands made of her by the gallant, promptly threw her arms around him. “Wherever you lead me, ser, I shan’t falter.” The pronouncement slid between the two of them, pleasant in its optimism, as the promises of children are. “Pray put me down,” she asked in return.

Assured of her cooperation in the events he had planned, Brandon allowed her to slide to the ground, never forfeiting his hold on her though. “You must swear to me that no one shall hear of this. Vow it. Upon your life.”

“Upon my heart and soul,” came her answer. She leaned in, demanding the attention of his lips which Brandon gladly gave. What was better than the sweet kiss of a lover?

Just as swiftly as she had leaned in, Barbrey retreated. “Away,” she whispered. “We shan’t be alone for much longer.” Despite the words, she did not push him away when he took another kiss from her. But only laughed, she did. “You must go.”

“Indeed.” Sweet sorrow was the parting only in its knowledge to a reunification, eventual though it be. Brandon lingered only a few moments more in her presence after which he slipped away behind the tree, watching Barbrey draw fresh tracks in the snow, smoothing the whiteness beneath the heels of her boots.

Just as she had predicted her young companions returned to her side, triumphant in her ignorance, holding up for inspection was looked to be a piece of cloth. Thus satisfied, Brandon spent no more time in the shadows, but made his way to a small copse where he’d left, well secured, his own horse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lord Tully’s face exploded in violent rage. His fist slammed into the surface of the table with such power that it tipped his goblet over, sloshing sweet red upon the vast expanse. His eldest daughter despite her lack of composure had the wherewithal to throw the first thing which came in hand upon the mess. “Lord father, I pray you,” she began only to be cut short by the thundering look he bestowed upon her.

There was nothing to be gained by further engaging him in any sort of manner. Catelyn, still deeply shocked by what her ears had heard, allowed her weight to sink upon the nearest seat. Her father, on the other hand, was perfectly comfortable expressing himself from his current position, large hands gesturing vehemently, the convulsed language leaving little doubt as to the meaning.

“I am certain Eddard Stark is as valiant as his brother,” Catelyn made another attempt in spite of her best judgement counselling her against such a move. Her own preference had been with the tall, striking Brandon whom she had found she had an affinity for as soon as her eyes hand landed on him. The younger brother was unknown to her but by the words of the elder and seldom had those been and not satisfactory in depth now that she had to consider this second option.

“You shan’t be wedding any Stark,” came the quick assurance. “I won’t have them for my family, not for all the gold in Casterly Rock.”

A pity, Catelyn thought to herself. All the gold in Casterly Rock might have easily solved the dilemma. She held her tongue however, waiting for her father’s anger to subside. Had Hoster Tully offered more to the prospective husband; the thought wormed its way into her mind, twisting cruelly. It was unfair.

“No child of mine shall have anything to do with that house,” the man vowed and to Catelyn her father seemed to bend under the burden of his decision. The years gained upon him with the swiftness of an unruly river current. “We shall speak no more of this, daughter, and you would do best to forget the name of Brandon Stark.” The instructions were met with an obedient nod from the oldest child.

Would that she was capable to such a feat, Catelyn lamented to herself. Yet how did one go about taking back a heart once given? “I should like to lie down, father. I believe I am indisposed.”

With due consideration to the circumstances, Hoster allowed her to retreat, going as far as to promise that the master would be by with something to help her sleep. Catelyn cared naught for that. She only desired to be in the privacy of her own bedchamber, alone with her thoughts, no prying eyes to watch her.

Though she moved with the swiftness of a dream, by some divine design she encountered no soul to offer her pity or consolation. Better that she did not, for she did not think she would have received the words graciously.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walys Flowers looked with his usual cynic attitude to the letter arrived from Riverrun. He had advised his lord not to offer any further alliance. The best one could do in such circumstances was to allow time to patch the wounded pride. The option out of his hands, however, the maester read the short lines.

As he’s expected, Lord Hoster Tully refused any further discussion upon a match between Catelyn, his eldest, and Ned. In fact, he went as far as to vow that the very pact they’d form would fall asunder under such circumstances.

What a muddle.

Shaking his head, Walys rolled the note back, hiding it away in his sleeve. They would not convince the man anytime soon to turn his face towards them once more. And therein laid the trouble. Lord Tully’s aid would have been invaluable. In fact, it was invaluable.

What had Brandon been thinking; always rash that one. Upon such a consideration, the Southron bastard saw himself out of the maester’s tower, careful steps taking him through the snow towards the library where his pupils were sure to be eagerly awaiting his arrival.

That was, of course, if they’d not found something more gripping in his absence.

It could be hoped, though, that their attention had improved from the measures taken.

The library, warmed by a healthy fire, contained scrolls and bound volumes, along with two young novices, twin sour expressions conveying the deep disagreement they had voiced before him. The maester simply cleared his throat and sat down in his usual seat.

From the two, it was the youngest whose gaze faltered first. The maiden continued to stare at him undaunted even by the most severe of his glares. Indeed, Lady Lyanna seemed content to challenge him, moth set in a grim line. Would that he could capture upon paper the sheer obstinacy of the child.

Alas, the master would not let her win. If she wished to conquer any bit of his benevolence, she knew very well what had to be done.

As expected, Benjen stammered out his apology in a manner much similar to the one used to deliver answers. “’Twas but a mistake, maester. Lyanna and I never meant to cause trouble.” The girl still refused to speak one word. Thus, Walys nodded at the youngest of Lord Stark’s children.

“I believe you are being sincere,” he allowed, “but I cannot overlook this. The scroll contained precious information.” He produced a second one of its likeness. “To replace what you have destroyed, each of you must copy one half.” If the gods were good, they would not ruin the second scroll as well. “When you are done, we shall move forth with the Old Valyrian verbs.”

It was then that the maiden reacted, a groan abandoning her lips gracelessly. Her brother produced a similar sound, though his came out forced; one day he would grow out of following into his sister’s every step.

“No more of this now. Begin with that scroll.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
